


You Are The World

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Good Omens - Gaiman & Pratchett, Red Dwarf
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-27
Updated: 2001-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Red Dwarf/Good Omens crossover. The basic plot is that the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley do some checking up on the last human and his bizarre mates... and they may have some bad news for the determined Scouser.</p><p>Warning: Various religions and elements thereof have a little fun poked at them. If you think this will offend you, read no further; but I assure you I only mean it in fun. Especially if you're a pantheist (but not a frying-pantheist) or a Seventh-Day Hoppist.</p><p>Dedicated to Tronny-bear, Sevvie and JB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are The World

**Author's Note:**

> Red Dwarf characters belong to Grant Naylor Productions; Crowley and Aziraphale belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
> 
> Lyrics from 'You Are The World' and '10,000 Years (Peace Is Now) copyright Live. Excerpts from the Bible copyright God, or whoever. Life of Brian copyright Monty Python, and Dogma copyright whoever owns it, who isn't me: they're both worth watching, Dogma especially if you like Alan Rickman. Finally, Crowley's description of pantheism is lifted from the Macquarie Concise Dictionary, but they'll probably be pleased someone bothered to look it up.
> 
>  
> 
> _Fighting, mating, warring  
> You are all this now  
> Be aware, not scared  
> Look at me now  
> Silence  
> I say  
> You are the world_
> 
> \-- from Live 'You Are The World'

Lister gets no warning about the arrival of the two strangers; it's just that one minute he's sitting watching a nude mud-wrestling video (featuring Bouncin' Betty and Jane of the Jungle), eating a sugar puff sandwich, and almost ignoring the cigarette burning away in his hand, and then the next minute the TV is off, the sandwich is gone, and the cigarette is just a pile of slightly smouldering ash on the floor.

'What the smeg?'

Lister looks up into the burning red eyes of an eight-foot demon with nasty-looking horns, a mouth full of sharp teeth, and a restlessly twitching tail, emits one sound (something like 'Eeep!'), and faints backward onto his bunk.

'Crowley, you fool,' says the other stranger, shaking his head at the demon. 'Don't _do_ that to people. How many times do I have to tell you?' This stranger pops the remainder of Lister's sugar puff sandwich in his mouth. He chews meditatively, swallows, and smiles. 'He's going to die in minutes if he keeps on with a diet like this.'

'Yes, but do you get him, or do I get him?' The eight-foot demon has transformed back into a rather ordinary-looking humanoid. 'I mean, is he good or bad?'

'Ask Santa,' the other stranger says.

'Aziraphale, your sense of humour has not improved since I met you,' Crowley says, 'and since that was at the dawn of time, that's not a good thing.'

'Who do you think was the first to tell the chicken joke?' is all Aziraphale can offer by way of a reply. 'Besides, comedians are usually sinful. Sex, drugs, vice -- and that's just the content of their jokes.'

'He's coming around,' announces Crowley, scrutinising the last human's face.

Lister blinks back into a world of greys and blacks. Blinks a few more times and gets colour. That's good.

The problem is that most of it is coming from a sword. A dirty great flaming sword, wielded by a man in white robes, sandals, a halo, with wings sprouting from between his shoulderblades, and a smear of sugar on his upper lip.

'Oh Gah...' Lister decides oblivion is a better place to be.

'Well, angel,' says Crowley, 'looks like your plan didn't work any better than mine.'

'The fear of God has got to be better than the fear of Satan,' Aziraphale mumbles. 'Are you going to wake him up, or will I?' His wings have folded back into his robes, which aren't robes any more, but instead a rather nice dark blue suit. The halo has disappeared. The flaming sword has disappeared as well, into who knows what plane of the immaterial. A quick flick of the angel's tongue takes care of the sugar.

'Oh, don't _you_ wake him up. He shouldn't have to see anyone wearing sandals with a suit.' Crowley bends over the unconscious man before Aziraphale can reply and pokes him in the ribs. 'Arise, slobbo!'

'Not _quite_ the way Jesus would have done it,' Aziraphale murmurs quietly, waving his hand at the sandals, which vanish.

'Huh?' Lister re-returns to the land of the living and stares in bemusement at the two men standing by his bunk. 'What? Who are you?'

'We are emissaries from the Other Side.' Angel and demon speak in unison. 'We have come to offer you a place with us.'

'_One_ of us,' Crowley adds.

'What?'

Aziraphale perches on the edge of the bunk and looks seriously at Lister. 'David Lister, we have something to tell you. You're not going to like it. You may want to sit down.'

'He is.'

'Shut up, Crowley.' Aziraphale returns his attention to Lister. 'We've been following your progress for a good while. A lot of us Up There -- and Down There, as well, of course -- have, in fact. For just under three million years.'

'Why?' Lister seems reduced to monosyllabic questions.

Crowley sits down on the other side of Lister and pats his hand. Lister can't help but notice the slight burning sensation in that appendage when Crowley touches it, but manages not to jerk his hand away.

'I'm afraid we have some bad news for you, Dave.'

_Dave!_ Lister thinks. _It _must_ be bad news_.

'For just under three million years, you and your compatriots have been the last remaining life in the Universe -- aside from the GELFs and rogue Simulants and the like.' Crowley delivers this in as emotionless a voice as he can manage. 'You are, effectively, what is left of the world.'

Lister advances to more than one word. 'How? How did it happen?'

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a meaningful glance. 'I think it would be best if we didn't tell you,' Aziraphale says as gently as possible.

'No, I think it would be best if you _did_ tell me. I want to know how the human race... snuffed it,' Lister says. His brown eyes are belligerent. 'Tell me.'

Angel and demon trade another look. 'A nuclear war,' Crowley says finally.

'One of yours, that was.'

'Shut up.'

'Original sin _and_ the end of the race God created. Nice one, Crowley.'

'Shut up! Anyway,' Crowley addresses Lister again, 'Earth was already the garbage dump for the Universe by then. So the main war was between Mars and Venus. But the radiation spread -- contaminated people fled the planets and went to the outer planets and the asteroids -- the moons were done in -- and then someone detonated a thermonuclear device that blew up Jupiter. Fried the entire Solar System before you could say "Oi, piss off with that thing!".'

_Earth a garbage dump. Earth gone. Mars gone. Everywhere, everything. Gone._

'Are you serious?'

'Like we'd be here if we weren't,' Crowley says.

'Like I said,' says Aziraphale, 'we're here because the Big G has offered you and your crewmates a celestial apartment -- or, if you're the type who's always on the 'naughty' list, the basement room right next to the heater.'

'Funny buggers, aren't you? I don't know what Rimmer put in my coffee, but you can just piss off and leave me alone. This isn't even remotely humorous,' Lister says. 'If I'm not hallucinating, I'm really, really drunk.'

'You are not hallucinating,' says Crowley.

'And although you're usually drunk, this isn't one of those times,' says Aziraphale.

'We're for real,' they chorus.

'But I don't even _believe_ in God!' Lister says. 'Look at that Universe... that wasn't created in seven days and nights.' He waves a hand at the porthole, through which can be seen a silver mess of stars and the furiously bright, but fortunately distant, glare of a star gone supernova.

'Genesis, chapter one, verse one: "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth",' says Aziraphale.

'Go _away_!' Lister folds his body down behind Crowley and sticks his head under his pillow.

'Go on, do the bit about you,' Crowley says. 'That's always good for a laugh.'

'A _laugh_? It's dead serious, my bit,' Aziraphale protests.

'What's "your bit"?' says the muffled one.

'Come out from under that pillow, human, and I'll tell you,' Aziraphale says, affecting an air of worldly wisdom.

Lister sheds the pillow and looks at Aziraphale. 'Go on then.'

'Ahem...' The angel clears his throat. 'Genesis again -- chapter three, verse twenty-four. "He placed at the east of the Garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life".' He nods at Lister. 'You saw the sword before.'

'I've seen more convincing plastic light sabres,' Lister deadpans.

'Would you like to see it again?' A threatening flash of pure light flashes out from under Aziraphale's suit jacket.

'Never mind. So your name is?'

'Aziraphale.'

'Right. And who's the other one?'

'Crowley,' says Crowley. 'And I'm in the Good Book as well, except I'm the not-so-good part.'

'Do you remember it, or will I say it?' Aziraphale asks.

'I know it, I know it, no need to show off,' Crowley says. He coughs for a moment, then: 'Genesis, of course, chapter three, verse one: "Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made.".'

'Oh, that was you, was it?' says Lister. 'The snake in the grass.'

'Yes. I used to be known as Crawly. I changed it.'

'Crawly...' Lister snickers.

'Dave, really,' Aziraphale says. 'Laughing at a demon's joke is likely to get you one rung lower on that ladder down.'

'On the other hand, at least he laughs at me. Most people just look puzzled at you,' Crowley says.

'Doesn't matter, fellas, because I'm staying here.' Lister pokes his head back under the pillow. 'I couldn't leave my vindaloos, and Kochanski, and Fiji...'

'Kochanski's dead, Fiji hasn't existed for three million years, and Rimmer's plotting with the Cat to flush your vindaloos out of Airlock Three,' Crowley says, expressionless.

'_What_?'

'He didn't laugh at you that time,' Aziraphale comments.

'I wasn't joking.'

'You guys really know how to make a guy's day, don't you?' Lister says from under the pillow. 'Will you just smeg off, please, I think I need a sleep.'

'So you really don't believe in God then? Don't want the chance at eternal bliss?' Aziraphale persists.

Lister throws the pillow off again, nearly hitting Crowley. 'Of course I don't believe in,' - he made the quotation marks with his fingers - '"God". I'm a pantheist. You know that, if you've been watching me for umpty-million years.'

'Ah, yes,' nods Crowley. 'Pantheism. The doctrine that God is the transcendent reality of which the material universe and man are only manifestations, thereby denying God's personality, and identifying God with nature. Or, if you prefer, "God is in all things".'

'Alright, I don't believe in God as a single being. But that's the one,' Lister says.

'It's bullshit,' Crowley says.

'Well bloody hell,' Lister says. He looks at Aziraphale. 'What've _you_ got to say about this then?'

'Being an _angel_, I think I'm fully qualified to tell you that he's right -- it's bullshit,' replies Aziraphale, suppressing a smirk at the look on the confused human's face. 'God is a single entity.'

'Male or female?'

'More or less androgynous, actually,' Aziraphale says. 'That's why angels and demons... well, we don't have... well...'

'Genitals.' Crowley stares at the ceiling.

'What about all the stories -- you know, 'I Had Satan's Child!', and that,' presses Lister.

'Remember that bullshit we mentioned earlier?' says Crowley.

'Alright, alright. Just suppose I did believe you. Where would I be going? Heaven or Hell?'

'Oh, we can't tell you _that_,' says Aziraphale, shocked. 'That would be like telling you if your Christmas present was going to be a race-car or a lump of coal.'

'And does J.C. ever get pissed when Christmas comes around,' Crowley says. 'I've seen him moping around, complaining about it being _his_ birthday but he gets nothing, while all the kids on Earth -- and Mars, and wherever -- get brought presents by some fat git who stole his name!'

'_I_ always send him a card,' Aziraphale says loyally.

'I sign the company card, but I don't know if the Big S sends it or not. He's too busy marking down all the little prats who're veritable devils fifty-one weeks in a year and only make good for the week before Christmas,' Crowley says.

Lister blinks. One minute they're discussing his eternal bliss-or-damnation, the next it's Christmas cards for Jesus Christ.

'Well... what about Rimmer? Can ya tell me about him?'

Crowley snorts. 'His parents were Seventh-Day Hoppists,' he informs Aziraphale. '_You_ can have him.'

'You think we want him?' Aziraphale says. 'You have him. He's a sinner. He _spills his seed._' He says this last in a disgusted whisper. It's the best he can think of on short notice.

'Ugh,' says Lister. He's amused, though. 'So not even you guys want him around. I'm impressed. Rimmer's even managed to offend an angel and a demon.'

'Oh, that's not hard,' Crowley says. 'We have very high standards.'

Lister, somehow, has the feeling he doesn't meet any standards. 'And the Cat?'

'Vain, selfish creature. Let him burn,' Aziraphale says.

Crowley wrinkles his nose. 'You think _I_ want to put up with his whining for eternity?' He does a startlingly bad impression of the Cat. 'Yeeoww, yeah, where's the mirrors down here? Doesn't this place _have_ air-conditioning?'

'Don't you guys want _any_ of us?' Lister asks. 'Not even Kryten?'

'He'd be useful, but he's such a pedantic git!' Crowley says.

'Now, now, friend,' Aziraphale says.

'You two are _friends_? Shouldn't demons and angels hate each other?' Lister isn't sure of the meaning of the look that passes between the two, and decides not to pursue the point any further.

'You're right, though,' Aziraphale says. 'You four have nothing going for you. You're survivors, yeah, and the last surviving members of your respective races, but apart from that, I don't think you'd fit in in Heaven.'

'Or in Hell,' contributes Crowley.

'So what're you going to do? Send us to Limbo? Purgatory? Or whatever it's called?'

'They're two different places, and no. No, David Lister, we have decided that today will not be your day of judgement.' Aziraphale has resumed his officious manner. 'You will be granted the opportunity, therefore, to live out the rest of your natural lifespan, and when the day that you do die comes, you will perhaps meet us again.'

'It was good to meet you. You're a real battler,' Crowley says, getting up. 'Come, Aziraphale, we must be going.' He holds a hand out to his cohort; the two join hands and stand in front of Lister. 'Perhaps we will see you again, Dave Lister, until then, fight on and live. Your life is your greatest asset; without it, you will be like every other human.'

'Boring?' Lister hazards.

'Dead. I'd advise you to think more about religion, though. Read the Bible. Watch some movies -- _Life of Brian_, _Dogma_, that sort of thing. Sometimes the best way to learn of a thing is to learn of what makes it humorous.' Crowley smiles. 'Best of luck, Dave Lister.'

The angel and the demon turn back to their imposing forms. Lister throws his arm up to cover his eyes as the flaming sword's light strikes them and the aura of fire around Crowley blazes white. There is a hiss, as of water thrown on flames, and then... silence.

When Lister uncovers his eyes again, his two visitors are gone.

* * *

'I wish that there was more we could do for him,' muses Aziraphale, as the two hover somewhere between reality and the celestial plane.

'There is. But it's up to you.'

'Me?'

'She's under your jurisdiction.' Crowley puts his lips to Aziraphale's ear and whispers two words. They both begin with the letter 'K'. Aziraphale nods slowly, a smile bursting onto his face.

'If we're lucky... '

'Maybe David Lister won't be the sole remaining member of the human race in this dimension for much longer.'

* * *

Some time later, Lister stands in his quarters. He wears fluffy bunny slippers, a pink dressing gown, and his face is adorned with a box of dental floss and two tufts of cotton wool, the latter protruding from his ears. Kryten is fussing over him as the Cat skids into the room.

'Hey, nice outfit!' The feline sounds scarily sincere.

'Did you come in 'ere for a reason?' Lister mumbles around his floss.

The Cat recalls his purpose for leaving the cockpit. 'Oh, yeah! Something's showing up on the long-range scan which is _weird_ with a capital "WE".'

* * *

'It took some manoeuvring, but I managed it in the end,' Aziraphale tells his companion triumphantly.

Crowley smiles. 'Well done.' They clink metaphysical wine glasses and settle back to watch the fun.

**Author's Note:**

> _Poets and preachers and politicians  
> they've all had their say  
> And we got ten thousand years devoted to nothing  
> but tomorrow and yesterday_
> 
> \-- from Live '10,000 Years (Peace Is Now)'


End file.
